“Her?” Lutrisha rolled her eyes. “She could be anywhere. They said she was fired because she was late all the time, which kind of surprised me.”

“Why?”

“Word was, Neesa had some kind of thing going on with the head of housekeeping. Herman Byars.”

“What kind of thing?”

“One guess. I gotta go now.”

23

On Friday, she was congratulating herself on making it through another week without any serious incidents.

Her celebration was short-lived. Shortly after eleven, she sensed a shadow over her shoulder.

“Drue?” Wendy brandished a handful of papers.

“What do you need?” Drue responded.

Wendy jerked her head in the direction of her office. “Let’s do this somewhere quieter.”

As she trailed behind Wendy’s cloud of Miss Dior perfume, Drue experienced the same inescapable sense of doom she’d once felt on her numerous trips to the principal’s office in high school.

She already knew what was coming. The “you’re not living up to your abilities,” the “you need to try harder” and, worst of all, the dreaded “we are very disappointed.”

“Close the door, please,” Wendy said, not looking up from the document she was reading.

She absentmindedly reached in a cut-glass jar on her desk and tossed a biscuit to Princess, who was lounging on an orange Hermès blanket on the only other chair in the room.

Drue stood glowering down at the French bulldog, who kept right on chewing and ignoring her.

“You can sit,” Wendy said, looking up.

“Where?”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Wendy snapped. “Here, Princess. Come here to Mommy.”

The dog hopped down and trotted over to her mistress.

“Move that blanket, please,” Wendy said, before Drue could seat herself. “She’s very sensitive, and it confuses her when she smells other people’s scents on her things.”

Drue folded the blanket and dropped it to the floor.

“What did you need to see me about?” she asked, wanting to endure as little time as possible in what she considered the Chilean chamber of torture.

“This,” Wendy said, tapping a computer printout on her desktop. “I’ve been looking at your leads sheet, and frankly, I’m appalled. Do you realize you’ve been here for four weeks and the only case you’ve referred is this?”

“Yes,” Drue said eagerly. “You’re talking about the client from Sunshine Inn—the extended-stay motel on U.S. 19?”

“Bedbugs?” Wendy said shrilly. “Three weeks and all you have to show is a bedbug case?”